


Altered Origins

by DesdemonaSunrise



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cousland Family Feels, Gen, POV Cousland (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:22:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22210966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesdemonaSunrise/pseuds/DesdemonaSunrise
Summary: What if King Cailan and Anora had a child? F!Cousland perspective. One-shot.





	Altered Origins

*

The banquet was easily the most lavish thing I had ever attended. The trip to Denerim had been long and arduous – mainly because mother had refused to let me ride with Fergus and the guard and insisted I stay in the carriage as was proper – but the infectious cheer and sumptuous food and the gorgeous banners draped from every inch of the walls and ceiling made it worth it. Not to mention that nearly everyone I had ever met was in attendance; even the Knights had been invited to join in the revelry. It was fortunate that the Banquet Hall in the Royal Palace was so large, I thought with some wry amusement.

The breath of the entire country had been held this last year. Nobody had really _expected_ anything to go wrong, but it was always a possibility. There were always stories of children born quiet and still for no reason, or born perfectly healthy only to stop breathing a week or a month later. As such, the banquet had been arranged for a full six months after the birth, ostensibly so that Anora could “recover”.

Mother nudged me surreptitiously and made an innocuous comment about the dress that the Arlessa of Amaranthine was wearing some five seats down from us. I resisted the strong urge to roll my eyes; we lived close enough to Arl Howe that we saw him regularly, and mother actually thought she was being subtle every time she needlessly brought them up in conversation. I replied with something complimentary about the Arlessa’s skin tone and the colour of her dress… Though that was probably ill-advised, as Elaine carried an air of gloom about her and her skin had an unhealthy pallor no matter how many tinctures and herbal remedies she tried. As expected, my beleaguered parent closed her eyes in exasperation, then collected herself and reminded me that as I was approaching my sixteenth nameday, I would soon be expected to attend lessons on etiquette in the city. I made some noise of agreement. Today was not a day for arguments, and mum knew I wouldn't dare cause a scene at an event like this even if I was stubbornly rebellious against most tradition.

We were distracted by the entrance of the young royal couple, Cailan resplendent in his ceremonial armour and Anora wearing a fine blue gown and carrying a bundle in her arms. Behind them, the grandfather of the new Prince was actually in attendance, though his dour features hadn’t lifted from their perpetual frown. I had heard from Fergus that there was a sizeable pot of sovereigns on anyone ever actually seeing Loghain smile.

I couldn’t tell if the explosion of cheering was for the secured future of Ferelden or for the war hero. I kept my eyes on Anora’s proud, glowing face and was rewarded with a nod in my direction that I returned with a smile that was probably too wide.

My parents had initially tried to match me with Cailan, but had ceased all efforts as soon as it had been made clear Anora was to be Queen. After that, they’d shoe-horned me into being the Queen's confidante, hoping her favour would help win their daughter a suitable match. After yet another series of pointed comments and hints during a trip to Denerim last year, I had lost my temper and ended up venting my frustrations that night in a heated tirade that I had been very embarrassed about the moment it was over. I had been even more mortified when Anora confessed a day or so later that she had been able to hear everything from her rooms across the courtyard. Ironically, the loss of composure had started off a deep conversation about the pressures of growing up as nobility and we had bonded. Our friendship had only grown since then, though my parents had never really found out why.

The rest of the night bled away with the dances and drinks, the cheer undiminished when Anora excused herself and her baby a couple of hours later to rest. Cailan was laughing and joking, though I noticed that he had had the one celebratory drink for the toast and since then had been requesting water. I tried to work out if that was because of the presence of Loghain or because fatherhood had matured him, though ultimately it didn’t matter much. Cailan’s exuberance and childishness had always been his greatest disadvantage, particularly in being taken seriously as King.

That night after a careful trip back to my rooms accompanied by two of our Knights, I was accosted once more by her mother’s plans.

It seemed she had grown tired of me slinking away from my familial responsibilities. She informed me that a match would be made between their Teyrnir and the Arling of Amaranthine. If I had a preference for one of Howe’s sons, I should state it now.

Why my mother wanted me married to one of Howe’s children was beyond me, considering how poorly Howe treated his own wife. Nathaniel was the best of them, but he, too, had somehow managed to earn his father’s disdain. I shuddered; even if Nathaniel was older than me by some years, he was infinitely more preferable to his brother. I said as much, which made my mother’s lips flatten in disapproval.

I honestly did not understand why they put such energy into a match for me. Fergus and Oriana had had Oren, Highever was secure. I had never wanted to wed, really. I had never been the kind of girl to dream of princes and weddings, even marrying Cailan had only been a not-entirely-disappointing idea because I knew him, and knew that even if there would never be love between us, we could be on good terms. He had been top of my otherwise non-existent list not because of his name, but because I thought that at least with Cailan I could have joys, have some freedoms. I was aware that this line of thinking betrayed how secure I was in my privileged life, that I could pine for a man who understood me instead of one who could provide for me so I wouldn't starve, so I had kept it mostly to myself.

“Does it not matter at all what I want, mother?” I asked, and this time, I was honestly too tired to even inject any plaintive whine into it.

I knew that my duty was to help improve the stead of my family; every noblewoman had had that truth ingrained into her from birth. Everything I had ever been given, everything anyone had ever said to me, every lesson, every social event, every dinnertime conversation, _everything_ – it was all predicated on the idea that I had a duty to my family, my people. I was like a proud horse that refused to be broken in my parent’s eyes, but my father at least was able to recognise the same boldness in me as my mother had had when they met. He had told me so during some of our less polite arguments. Wilfulness had earned me both his affection and his ire.

My mother seemed taken aback, and she took my hands in hers.

“Do you not wish to be married at all, Elissa? Do you not want children and a family?”

It went unspoken that I couldn’t just marry whomever I wanted. Time was not spent wasted thinking about boys I could not marry. I would either marry a noble or I would not marry at all. My parents expected me to be smart enough to accept that.

I looked at my mother, and wanted to say something cutting, something cruel, about how the queen of the seas had just become a wife and had children. Had rooted herself to one place and narrowed herself to the same halls. Had strayed so far from who she was that she could no longer remember the times when she yearned for something _more_. For the freedom of the endless seas. But that wasn't entirely true, and Eleanor Cousland née Mac Eanraig had plenty of fire within her still, and such comments would only provoke it. I was still too tired for such a fight.

I looked again, saw her concern and love, and felt sad that there were always things that came above that. I knew she wanted me happy, but she was willing to sacrifice that if need be. And most of the time, I could contend with that idea. Other times, I just wanted to be happy, and run away from it all, scream into the wind as I rode into the distance with no carefully laid plans ahead of me.

“Would you have wanted to marry anyone other than father?”

She closed her eyes again and sighed. Then she tightened her grip on my hands.

“There isn’t someone that has caught your eye, is there? You’re not pining after the King? I had hoped we wouldn’t get your hopes up too much…”

“No,” I shook my head, “No, there’s no one.” _It isn't a person I want, mother, can you not see? Do you not_ see _me?_ “Not yet, at least. Can I have some more time, mother, please?”

But I’d already met every unattached nobleman. I knew every Arl, every son, every spare. We both knew it, so when my mother told me she would state my preference for Nathaniel Howe, I just nodded mutely in agreement and went to my rooms.

The next day, my parents had let me go to the mabari kennels. I knew it was Fergus’ idea. I’d been carrying around a small, fragile little pup since then, only just of age to leave its mother. The smallest of the litter.

I supposed one true companion through life would have be enough. They expected me to name him something fitting, so I named him Dog.

*

My father was sitting with his face in his hands again. He’d been doing that a lot, almost as often as couriers and messengers had been running to and from Highever to Denerim and Gwaren. It had been obvious for some time that something was afoot: Teryn Loghain only really corresponded with people on matters of war. He wasn’t one for pleasantries, or even politics.

I approached my father and pressed his tankard from the table against his arm.

“So,” I started conversationally, “when is someone going to tell me about the trouble brewing in the south that I am most definitely not supposed to know about?”

My father’s shoulders tensed, but he didn’t look up as he breathed out a laugh.

“Ah, Elissa, always too observant for your own good.” He released another sigh as he sat up and took his drink from me. “I suppose I should warn you now that there will be some Grey Wardens arriving soon."

My eyes widened.

The Grey Wardens were something of a polarising topic in Ferelden. To some, there was no higher calling. To others, they were an Orlesian arm—or at least a mostly foreign arm—of power reaching into Ferelden with a lot of impunity and little accountability. The low numbers of Grey Wardens in Ferelden certainly attested to that, and being able to recruit again so openly meant only one thing…

“A Blight, father… truly?”

“Perhaps not, but reports of darkspawn in the south have increased too much to be ignored. Loghain in particular is concerned.”

Grey Warden lore was one of the few areas of history that had interested me, so there was little doubt in my mind as to what this meant. Ferelden hadn’t seen a Blight in… _years_. Long enough to justify actually having the Wardens banned from Ferelden for some time. I wondered how this would change the political landscape in Ferelden; the Grey Wardens would rise out of obscurity and suspicion, people would be reminded of their necessity and their purpose. How they operated outside the jurisdiction of even the King unnerved most, and their staying to the fringes didn’t do anything to assuage doubts. People were convinced by actions, not lack thereof.

My father was looking at me with some worry in his eyes. “What is it, Pup?”

He actually laughed when I told him my thoughts. I huffed in affront and crossed my arms. Father waved his hands as if to placate me, and then confessed that he had been worried I was about to ask if I could be recruited.

“Honestly, I’m proud of you, Pup. A couple of years ago you would have still been daydreaming of glorious battles instead of thinking about…” he trailed off and waved an arm about again. “Political ramifications.”

I smiled at the praise.

Things were certainly easier between me and my parents now. I wondered when I had become so good at pretending, at being what people expected. Was I becoming that person, that face I put up? Or were people just paying less attention?

Shortly after extracting from my father information about the Grey Wardens due to arrive within the next week – two men, Duncan the Warden-Commander and one of his Senior Wardens – I had headed off to my rooms, chivvying Dog out of the kennels on my way.

He was ecstatic at being allowed to climb onto my bed, a treat he was very rarely allowed despite how he regularly slept in my rooms in a rather luxurious basket in the corner. As always, he seemed to sense exactly what I needed and curled up with me quietly, nuzzling my face and licking my tears when I cried.

My engagement to Thomas Howe had been made official three months ago. I had had to endure seeing him three times since then, and each time I was left cursing Rendon Howe for banishing his eldest son. I had almost accused him of doing it on purpose to my father, but my dear father’s genial, laidback nature had always worked against him when it came to seeing deceit or malice in others.

I sensed something wrong, and I could tell that Thomas had been ordered to be on his best behaviour. He was too much like his father, too simpering, too slimy and sure in his assurance that he was wanted. I knew it would not last, no, that he would treat me as he had seen his mother treated. As soon as I bored him, as soon as I did something to meet with disapproval…

The only thing left for me to do was to find other ways to fill my time, other people and things from which to draw comfort. My parents had thought I had matured immensely in the last few years, and in a way, I suppose they were right… knowing that I was going to be wed to Thomas Howe had opened my eyes. I could see my life stretched out before me, how I would become an old, lonely woman with little to rely on and less to love, no place where she felt at home, nothing to believe in, nothing that brought her joy, surrounded by sycophants trying to earn her favour. I wouldn’t even get to stay in Highever.

If marrying Thomas Howe was to be my fate, I was going to be as prepared for it as I could be. I had learned how to act like the perfect noblewoman, always in control of herself and never letting anyone get too close, I had learned how to lie and how to keep my mouth closed. I had learned to read others like the books I now poured hours into reading, immersing myself in any place but the present. I had learned how to be at peace, even when everything seemed to be working against me. I had learned how to enjoy some of the quieter things a lady like myself was supposed to have as past-times, tending to flowers and growing herbs for ointments, and even foreign languages. I had even learned the Chant, and Mother Mallol was still surprised that sometimes I would sit in the Chantry and just enjoy the peace.

“I wish we could go, Dog. I wish we could,” I whispered to him, hearing his low whine in response and glad that at least I would have him with me.

I was sure that when Thomas discarded me he would arrange another set of rooms for me. It was fairly common in such marriages to have such a refuge, and I was glad for it. I was learning how to love and live with mostly only myself, how to be happy with naught but my own thoughts. I would pick a room with a window overlooking a garden and I would sit there in the evenings with some tea, I would decorate it how I wished and Dog would be there with me as I read books or tried to learn how to sew and make my own clothes. I would visit my family and write letters to Anora and my friends from home, I would try to befriend Delilah.

That was a good life, I thought. It would be enough for me. I might not be riding into battle like my brother, but I would play my part.

*

The chaos that had overrun Highever was frightening. Normally I would have revelled in the upset order of things, but this time, there had been reports that my brother had been ambushed on his way to Ostagar. There were even reports that the master assassins, the Crows, had been seen in Ferelden. I did not like the coincidence of these two events.

My father had been in hastily arranged meetings all evening. My mother had held herself together with a taught wire of tension and desperation, clutching onto a shaking Oriana as we waited for definitive news on what had happened. I had taken to keeping Oren company. Normally, his tendency to interrupt and ask me questions “where are the Qunari from? What does the King’s armour look like? Why doesn’t Mummy have a tail like Daddy?” drove me to the edge of sanity, but now he was quiet and withdrawn. He wasn’t even listening to the story, but I hoped that my presence and voice were helping.

Supposedly Fergus had last been seen near Highmount, so father had actually petitioned the Templars at the Tower to help investigate. News was slow in coming.

When it did come two days later, it came in the form of a Templar messenger with trembling hands clutched around his helm. He looked so young.

There is a certain look to someone’s face, I thought in a daze, when they have come to tell someone their son – their only son, father to a grandchild barely turned six – had died.

My parents were inconsolable. Oriana more so, though she had tried for the sake of Oren to be strong. Highever had been in mourning for nearly a fortnight before his body could be returned to us.

As I stared at the flames rising from my dearest, my only real friend, I tried to remember the last thing I had said to Fergus. I tried to remember the exact cadence of his voice and the shape of his smiles and I tried to remind myself that even if he hadn’t died then, he could easily have died in battle not weeks later, and that he had known that. I tried to convince myself that the Maker had a plan for all of us. I tried to tell myself I had been lucky to have a big brother at all. That every time we had incensed Nan or sparred together or made funny faces across the dinner table at each other to annoy our parents, every single moment was a moment I should be grateful for. None of it helped.

That night it was only exhaustion from crying myself out that let me sleep, and when I woke the next morning my eyes were still puffy and sore. I looked at myself in my mirror, at the parts of my face that looked like my brother’s, and fresh tears trickled over my inflamed skin.

*

Oriana and I had grown quite close. She had loved Fergus deeply, hence the match that hadn’t even been approved by my parents, as the father of her child and the love of her life. I had some years on her as the younger sibling who had idolised and loved an elder one who had guided and protected them, but I could sense that his death had broken something inside her I had yet to even touch. It still hurt to think, that our sisterly love for each other had only been able to grow in the space of his loss.

It was to Oriana whom I first told my suspicions.

“It was Howe.”

That was all I had said. And really, that was all I had needed to say. Oriana had understood exactly what I meant.

The next time the Howe family came to visit – fortunately etiquette dictated a private period of mourning of no less than twenty-two nights, so I had had time to prepare myself – and dine with us in the castle, she began to notice the things I had already been on the lookout for. How Elaine was quieter than normal, how she didn’t meet any of our gazes; how Howe mentioned more insistently than he ever had before that the match between Thomas and myself be pulled forward to this very year; how Delilah looked unsure and uncomfortable; how Thomas smirked to himself and made comments about how he was looking forward to dining in this hall more often.

That night, Oriana came to me.

“He means to take Highever.”

I nodded. “If Fergus was first, then Oren is next.” I didn’t want to think of it, but then—I didn’t want to think of what Howe had done to Fergus, and it had still happened.

I had never seen Oriana so fierce, but I knew instinctively that she would go to the ends of Thedas for her son. I took her hands much as my mother had when informing me of the match that had spelled Fergus’ end.

“I will need your help, Oriana. Together, we should be able to convince my – _our_ – parents not to trust Rendon Howe.”

It had seemed like an insurmountable task, what with my father mobilising the rest of our men to travel to the south to face the darkspawn. The looming terror of the Blight was starting to hang over the whole country; the Grey Wardens had fought valiantly, supported Loghain and the Arlings in the south, but the corrosive nature of the Taint meant that almost as many men were lost to poison and illness as they were to the twisted black blades the darkspawn carried. It was never a foregone conclusion, winning a Blight, even with every man in the country armed. The Grey Wardens were still on recruitment campaigns and Cailan had actually publicly urged the people of Ferelden to consider joining them, enlisting in the Army or lending whatever skills they had to the war effort.

I knew that Fergus was only one man. But he was my only brother, and sometimes, family was all that mattered. Even if Ferelden were to be lost to this Blight, I wanted to see Howe hang first.

*

Anora and I had not seen each other that much since the banquet; staying in Denerim for a week twice a year was not a lot of time for most friendships, but whatever else could be said about noblewomen, that they counted precious few amongst their real friends was certainly true.

Her reply to my letter – complete with what little evidence I had been able to gather and clumsily code using Chant verses – was the quickest I had ever had.

_Dearest Eli,_

_I cannot help but believe you, no matter how I would like to wish otherwise. The circumstances of his passing meant that we knew someone had orchestrated his demise, but to think of an evil so close to home must be more than you can bear._

_I will speak with my husband and my father and try to arrange an inquiry. I will not say that this came from you, but truly I can see no other that would benefit from this and I am confident others will come to the same conclusion. At the very least, I would hope to be able to arrange a better match for you. Engagements have been broken before. If you fear for your nephew, send him and his mother to me._

_Love,_

_Ora_

I had pressed the letter to my chest as relief so acute it nearly hurt swept through me. Oriana had been fretting, her stress showing as her temper frayed even with Oren. That even if they could not convince her parents of Howe’s treachery, Oriana and Oren would be safe in Denerim in the Royal Palace was enough. That Anora would be able to find someone— _anyone_ —other than Thomas Howe for me to marry was something I scarcely dared to believe could be true. I had been so resigned to my fate – perhaps she would force Cailan to recall Nathaniel? Or a foreigner? Not an Orlesian, her father would never stand for it, but someone from the Anderfels, Nevarra or Rivain, even?

When I showed the letter to Oriana, her tears of gratitude convinced me that whatever else happened now, it had been worth it.

I confronted my parents that evening. Oriana had been raising questions these last few days to help plant the seeds of doubt. I started from the beginning, with my suspicions of Nathaniel’s banishment, and finished with the letter from Anora. Then I waited.

To my intense surprise, my parents exchanged a grim look, but not a remotely surprised one.

“My dearest daughter, we have suspected Howe since your brother’s death. No-one else would have had reason to order Crows to assassinate Fergus.”

I sagged against the wall in relief, my hand shaking as I ran my free hand through my hair.

“What do we do?” I whispered up at the ceiling.

“Elissa, Howe cannot know that we suspect him until we have marshalled every piece of evidence against him. We have nearly enough, and the word of Anora and an inquisition approved by the King could be the final piece we need.”

I had sobbed with relief, not bothering to compose myself and wipe my face before I went to share the news with Oriana. Oren had been confused by our tears and happy cries, but he had understood well enough when we said that we thought we had found Daddy’s killer. A few months ago, I would never have said such a thing to Oren, but losing his father had made Oren older in a shorter time than I would ever have thought possible. He read his own bedtime stories now.

In what seemed no time at all and yet the longest, most agonising wait, a letter from Anora arrived. Her father, ever practical and cynical, had seen the truth of Howe’s motivations immediately, and had aided her in her attempts to convince Cailan, who already trusted his wife and her judgement. She had won us our inquisition.

A week later, Rendon Howe was arrested, charged with murder and executed. His family was stripped of their land and titles, and what little had been left in their coffers after Howe used a sizeable amount to pay for his assassins. Thomas had been imprisoned for his involvement, as had Elaine for a shorter term for her complicity. Delilah, it turned out, had been collecting proof against her father, and had been pardoned and allowed to live in Denerim as one of the royal handmaidens. A royal missive had been sent to Nathaniel Howe inviting him to return to Ferelden to reclaim his homestead.

Victory had never tasted so bittersweet.

*

The Castle had been quite quiet for a few weeks, now. My father’s highest ranks and a small guard were all that remained. Father himself would be leaving next week to travel to Ostagar.

I shifted restlessly and rubbed my arms to induce some warmth into them. It was chilly next to the window, but the view helped me think.

After the disastrous ending to my engagement with Thomas Howe, a suitable match hadn’t been found for me. My parents had not brought the topic up even once, even though my reputation had not been damaged. In fact, I was known for my role in bringing about Howe’s demise, and my friendship with Anora was now the subject of much gossip and interest. I was perhaps in an even stronger position than before.

Marriage to Howe had always been how the bars of my prison took shape. Now that he was gone, now that Nathaniel had not answered his summons and there was talk of granting us the Arling of Amaranthine as reparation… now that there was no real pressure for me to wed, I was unsure whether I could escape that prison altogether. Would my parents consent now to the only thing I had ever really wanted? Could I be free?

They’d never openly disapproved of what I was sure other people called _unsavoury_ activities behind my back; of my training, of how I knew every guard by name because we sparred together every other evening, of participating in tourneys and archery competitions, of helping Nan in the kitchen and helping the stablemaster attend to the horses, of organising trips to the coast so I could swim. My mother in particular had always respected my desire to fight, having been a force to be reckoned with herself in her youth, and I knew she loved the wind in her face as much as I did, the taste of salt on her tongue. She used to tell me when I was younger, brushing my sopping wet and tangled hair with a secretive little smile on her face, that it was my pirate blood singing to me.

“Is it wrong, to want to be free?” I asked Dog. He pressed himself against my leg and licked my elbow. He was so large now, the only reason I could remember how small he was when I first got him is because I knew he had measured the length of my forearm. He’d laid in the crook of my elbow trying to suckle from it.

I drew on him for strength as I prepared to face my parents. I wished Fergus were here. He would have argued for my sake, that I deserved to decide my happiness the same way he had found happiness with Oriana and that it didn't matter that it took a very different shape. But as it was, I ended up facing my parents alone. They had just finished greeting some guests; I curtsied to them on their way past and tried to ignore their measuring looks.

“What is it, Elissa dear?”

I sat down and ran my hands through my hair before settling them on Dog’s neck.

“I don’t know where to start. I’m not even sure I want to start, except I can’t bare not to.” My parents looked at each other in worry. “I don’t… really want to marry?” I said, and it ended up coming out a question. I sighed and started again. “It’s not that I don’t want to marry at all. I just want to pick my own husband. I want what you have, what… what Fergus and Oriana had. I want to decide for myself, I want to see where life takes me. I want to see where I fit and where I can make a difference. And I know this sounds like the complaints of a child, and I know you’re thinking that I’m still just an ignorant, ungrateful cur in love with the legends of the Grey Wardens and the King in the war…”

I bit my lip and waited, gauging their reactions. My mother looked resigned, my father totally unmoving with his eyes closed. I ploughed on.

“Few things matter to me in life, and I have tried to learn to enjoy the simple things. Still, I haven’t said much about how much it means to me, being able to train with the guard, riding with them, having real friends… I know I’ve already had much more freedom than most. I know how lucky I am.” I stopped, and looked down. “But mostly family matters to me, so if you pick someone you want me to marry, then I will marry them, and I will be a dutiful wife. I just… could not resign myself to that fate without showing you my true self first.”

They hadn’t said much, and their upset silence had caused me to do something I hadn’t done in years: I had curtsied, then dismissed myself.

That meeting was never spoken of again, and it had taken some days for things to regain some normalcy. Confessing to Orianna and hearing her support had really counted, and we had reminisced together as we imagined what Fergus would say, were he here with us. The place where he should have been had started to tinge with nostalgia and fond remembrance, and as we shared some wine and spoke about him while looking out at the view of the garden, we didn’t cry anymore. We smiled, even if it was a little sad.

*

“Father, what is happening?”

I was at a loss as to what was going on. It was the day of my father’s departure to Ostagar, but despite the fact I wasn’t going with him, he had called me into the great hall. In my armour. My father had never asked to see me in my armour in his life.

“Elissa,” he said as he gestured to the man that had been standing behind him.

My eyes widened as I recognised the Warden-Commander, Duncan. The other man behind him was unfamiliar, but very young. Dog ran up and greeted them both enthusiastically.

“Warden-Commander,” I greeted, foregoing the curtsey as I remembered that Duncan preferred handshakes.

His grip was as firm as I remembered.

I was introduced to the other Warden, a Junior with reddish golden hair by the name of Alistair. Then there were a few seconds of silence before I looked to my father for explanation. He imitated my nervous habit and actually ran a hand through his hair, then he let out a breath.

“Give me some credit, Pup, I knew exactly what you were saying. You’re riding with us to Ostagar.”

I stared at him, open-mouthed, decorum totally and completely forgotten as I struggled to comprehend that my father had actually just said that I was being given the chance to fight for my country.

“F-Father? Are you--?” I paused, feeling the rising urge to cry and only managing to stop it when I remembered that the Wardens were _right there_ and the Hall was far from empty and the last thing I needed was everybody worried about a tearful little girl being asked to watch their back. Dog returned to my side and thumped his hindquarters onto the floor, shocking me into a reaction. “I hope mother agreed to this because otherwise she’s going to hand your hide over to Nan,” I said finally.

Father chuckled and came to stand next to me, placing his hand on my shoulder and squeezing as he smiled indulgently. It was a look he often had when talking about Mother.

“She would come herself, if we didn’t need someone to hold down the fort here.”

I smiled. “She’s still better than I am with a bow.” I turned to the Wardens. “I look forward to travelling with you.”

My father gestured to Duncan and explained that he was here to recruit Ser Gilmore.

Duncan nodded. “May I also say that your daughter would also be an excellent choice.” He quickly raised a hand. “Though fear not, I have no intentions of invoking the Right of Conscription.”

I raised an eyebrow at my father and he sighed and massaged his temples.

“Let’s just concentrate on riding to Ostagar, for now.”

“Well, I had best go and pack my things... and say my goodbyes, I suppose.”

When my father agreed, the truth began to sink in. I grinned at Duncan and Alistair as I dropped into an exaggerated curtsey. “If you would excuse me.”

I almost ran out of the room, intent on wrangling as much time as I could from my family before I left. The three people I was searching for were all waiting outside my rooms, and Oriana was beaming while my mother wore a proud expression I hadn’t seen for some time, not since the days when she had taught me to shoot. Oren was excited and pretending to swing a sword around as he jumped around his mother.

“I know you will be magnificent,” mother told me as she held my shoulders and contemplated me. “Stay safe, fight well, and return home. We’ll miss you.”

*

My father hadn’t said anything, and neither had any of the men, but it was glaringly obvious that I was struggling. It wasn’t even the fighting I was having a problem with, so far we hadn’t actually encountered any darkspawn. No, my main problem was that everything _hurt_.

I enjoyed riding. I rode frequently. But that didn’t mean my noble behind wasn’t as sore as that time I fell out of a tree whilst climbing for cherries. I also enjoyed sparring and had trained regularly for some years now... but that didn’t mean that I was used to the actual regime of a guard or Knight, or to riding in armour because you either carried it on you or didn’t take it at all. Every muscle I had ached. Everywhere hurt, not least because my armour was rubbing in places I didn’t know it could rub.

At least I provided some entertainment, I supposed. I had learned a long time ago not to take jibes personally, so when Bert or Harry ribbed me that I should have trained with them more often I just rolled my eyes and stuck out my tongue. Still, I knew I was getting alarmingly close to crotchety as we neared a week’s travel. Despite knowing it was against my better judgement, I started to whine at my Father.

“Father, you could have _warned me_.”

“I told you to put on your armour.”

“That’s not a warning!”

“I thought you would figure it out.” My father nonchalantly waved his hand about, the half-eaten apple clutched in it being carefully watched by Dog as he gestured. Father noticed and teased him a few times, pretending to throw the piece of fruit and watching him leap forward then whine reproachfully a second later when he realised he had been tricked.

I threw my hands up into the air and pretended to be exasperated as my father gave in to the puppy eyes as he always did, but I soon relaxed into a grin at the sound of my father’s laughter. I sighed and leaned forward on my horse, letting my stead take most of my weight as I rested.

Even accounting for the armour, I already felt lighter and freer than I had since being a child. A weight was gone from the shoulders, the foreseen lifetime of disappointed hopes and forcefully lowered expectations. I could be _me_. It didn’t matter now if I didn’t behave perfectly all the time, people could take me as I was, and I would prove myself with my own two hands and the head on my shoulders.

The two Wardens were riding with me and my father at the head of our Guard, and Ser Gilmore – who had yet to be “initiated” into their ranks but had been selected as a potential recruit – was doing regular circuits between us and the rest of the men. As we travelled, we were picking up the last soldiers from our lands. Our forces behind us were slowly growing as the days passed, and I had found much time to get to know both of my comrades to be. Duncan was the stillness of a calm lake, stoic and quiet, his words always measured and saying exactly what he intended, but giving the impression of great force lurking underneath. I had yet to see him fight, only hunt, but I didn’t doubt that despite being my father’s age or older he would have the power and strength of a much younger man. Alistair on the other hand reminded me of a young Dog, full of energy, playful, favouring a quick quip or retort and seeming not to take much seriously, though I thought I recognised some of my own elation reflected in him. When he casually mentioned he was an ex-Templar, it was the missing piece of the puzzle that confirmed my suspicions; being a Templar was a life’s work, it required everything from you and you would be one until your dying days once you had taken your vows. I had assumed that Alistair had not gotten round to taking said vows, but I hadn’t exactly wanted to ask.

The trip to the south had had a notable bright spot, when a royal messenger relaying to my father and Duncan also passed me a letter.

_Dearest Elissa,_

_I am glad to hear that you have been given the freedom to pursue your path. I hope it brings you to Denerim often! I am sure you can find someone here that meets your fancy. Should all go well, there will be a celebratory feast next month. I expect you and your companions to be there to tell me about your adventures. Maric remembers you and Dog! Cailan is riding out to meet you now, and I’m sure he will tell you all about how worried he is that we will have to get Maric his own mabari. Give your father and travelling companions my well-wishes and do try to remember that tent walls are terribly thin._

_Love,_

_Anora_

“I do hope that isn’t a letter from a secret suitor, Elissa.”

My father’s comment made me guffaw, looking at him with a big grin still stuck on my face.

“You wish, father dearest. It’s from Anora. She sends you her love. Here,” I said as I passed him the letter and smiled to myself as I looked down at Dog, happily trotting next to me. “Maric remembers you!” I told him cheerfully as I leaned down further than I probably should have to scratch behind his ear. He whined appreciatively.

“What does she mean by ‘do try to remember that tent walls are terribly thin’?”

Alistair next to me choked something back and I sent him a reproachful look as I straightened up and his horse whinnied from an abrupt tug on the reins. “Honestly, for someone who lived in a Chantry you have the mind of a sewer, Alistair.” I said overly primly and heard Duncan chuckle as I turned back to my shocked father. “Fear not father, all that happened was Anora happened to be able to hear me quite clearly some years ago when I was venting at Fergus during a trip to Denerim about my parents trying to pick my friends. Apparently she was quite taken with my plan to put fish eyes in your soup.”

My father sighed. “Wonderful. And how is it I never heard of this?”

It still pained me to remember my brother’s smile, the sound of his voice, the way his hair had always been a bit messy and mussed, his terrible jokes. But I could speak about him now. His loss was not still so fresh that saying his name drove me into my rooms to weep.

“I threatened Fergus into secrecy,” I said, smiling a little, and then turned to my Warden companions. “We’ve been invited to a celebratory feast next month. Are Wardens allowed to go to that kind of thing?”

“There is nothing forbidding us. It would be down to each Warden whether or not they attended.”

I nodded, deciding it was a safe time to stop that conversation, lest everyone begin to think about how it was guaranteed not everyone would still be with us come next month.

We rode on in comfortable silence.

I looked out at the road ahead and heard the sound of hooves and Dog’s light steps and the murmur of conversation behind me and the clinking of armour. I glanced around at my companions; my father was talking quietly to Ser Gilmore on my right, along with the head of the Guard, Brenden, and the two Wardens were quiet, Duncan looking straight ahead even as Alistair looked around almost restlessly, catching my eye and grinning. I smiled back and tried not laugh at how he jittered in surprise. The smile was still on my face as I turned it skywards, feeling my skin warm.

I tried to imagine the path my life would take now, but I couldn’t see anything. I didn’t know where it was going anymore, where I would end up or how I would spend my days or what I would see, who I would love, how I would die. But I didn’t feel lost. I didn’t feel lost at all.

*


End file.
